


Following Your Voice

by Ferrero13



Series: Prosopagnosia [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Face blindness, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Prosopagnosia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9146671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrero13/pseuds/Ferrero13
Summary: Victor knows the blemishes on Yuuri's skin, has kissed the moles under his jaw and along his ear. But from twenty feet away, the only clues he has to go by are a beanie and a coat which probably half of Japan owns, and a face that Victor can't for the life of him commit to memory.





	

Victor spots Yuuri fiddling with his phone twenty feet away. Like any good fiancée, he immediately goes to him and wraps his arms around Yuuri from behind.

“Yuuri! Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you. Our flight leaves in an hour so we have a bit of time to—” He’s about to plant a kiss on Yuuri’s cheek when somebody calls his name from behind.

“Victor.”

Victor turns around. There, standing before him, is undoubtedly his fiancée, with black hair and a blue-grey beanie and a hideously oversized coat. Exactly like the man he’s currently hugging. Numbly, Victor draws his arms back to himself. The man who looks exactly like Yuuri but isn’t Yuuri quickly makes himself scarce.

“Victor,” Yuuri says again, his voice soft and breathy, like he’s on the verge of something catastrophic. “Our flight leaves in an hour. Let’s take some time to rest.”

Victor runs to catch up to Yuuri, who is currently speed walking to the other end of the departure lounge with both of their luggage. “Yuuri, I can explain. It’s not what it looks like. I mean, it’s exactly what it looks like in that I was hugging a random stranger but it’s not because I—”

“I’m going to listen to some music for five minutes and then we’ll talk about this,” Yuuri says, then takes out his earphones and plugs them in, all while still walking away from Victor.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, “Yuuri, please.” His words break and end up an octave apart from each other. “Please listen to me.”

“Five minutes, Victor.”

Victor shrinks, and something in him dies. He shouldn’t have kept it from Yuuri. He should’ve told him from the start, but what if Yuuri thinks he’s broken? Not worth loving? “Okay,” he mumbles, too softly for Yuuri to hear through his earphones, and follows after his fiancée—he’s still his fiancée, right?—like a kicked puppy, feet shuffling as unobtrusively as he could make them.

They settle into hard plastic chairs. Yuuri parks all of their luggage between them, and Victor sinks into his chair one seat over—one seat _too far_ —feeling small despite a vertical height of six feet. He looks at Yuuri, who is staring vacantly straight ahead of him, then at his fingers. He twists his ring. Gold. He hopes he gets to keep wearing it. He has a room full of gold but this is the only one he’s ever wanted to keep. What if Yuuri wants it back because Victor is a shitty fiancée? What if Yuuri thinks that Victor is a shitty human being? A sorry excuse for a man and a complete waste of space and air? Who would hug and kiss just about anybody?

He turns away, leans one shoulder against the backrest of his chair, and gazes out the windows. It’s dark outside, and snowing lightly, which means that he can see his reflection in the glass—pale skin drawn around eyes that are slightly too shiny. He looks horrible for a man who had been dizzyingly happy just moments earlier. The airport’s regulated air feels cold through his jacket; his Russian constitution is useless against the chill of Yuuri’s disregard.

“Yuuri?” Victor tries again. It has been three minutes.

Something in his voice must sound like it’s shattering, because Yuuri takes off his earphones and folds them back into his pocket. But when he looks at Victor, his eyes are still dark and shuttered and he still looks about as hurt as Victor feels.

“I’m sorry. I can explain,” Victor starts. “You see, I can’t recognise faces. I’m not just very bad at recognising faces, I’ve actually been diagnosed. There’s a condition called prosopagnosia and it means that I can’t tell face apart. I read cues from clothing and body language to put names to people. It’s partly why everybody I know personally has really ridiculous fashion sense—Georgi’s pointy fringe and Mila’s unnaturally pink-red hair and Christophe’s terrible beard and Yurio’s leopard prints, although Yurio actually likes his leopard prints and will probably slit my throat if I so much as dare to suggest that he wears them for my sake. I’m not saying that you’re plain because I’m sure you look absolutely beautiful but to me you’re this wonderful man wrapped up in an amazing body without a face and—”

“So you mean you can’t recognise me? You actually thought that was me?” Yuuri interrupts.

Victor blinks. Yuuri’s hands are now holding his. “I—yes. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I _want_ to know what you look like. God, I’ve never wanted to know what anybody looks like so badly. I want to be able to pick you out from a crowd the same way I know where you are when I hear your voice but I _can’t_ and it’s never been a problem before because I didn’t have anyone like you but now that I do have you I’ve gone and messed us up—”

“I’m not mad anymore,” Yuuri says. He looks worried instead. “Have you been hiding this all along? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Victor swallows. “I didn’t want you to think that something is wrong with me. That I’m not good enough for you.”

Yuuri laughs, and it’s harsh and ugly and a bit broken. “You’re a five-time world champion. If anybody should feel that way, don’t you think that it should be me? And do you really think that I’m the sort of person who would just leave you like that? Is that what you really think of me?”

“What? No—”

“Victor, I’d be a fool to leave you over something like this, and you’d be a fool if you would stay with somebody who wouldn’t accept you. I hope that this is insecurity talking and that you don’t genuinely think so lowly of me, because we’ve got a long talk coming your way if you do.”

Victor doesn’t say anything for a bit. “Now I know what it’s like to be you that time in China before the free skate.”

“I don’t really understand your condition, but I kind of understand where you’re coming from anyway. Unlike you crazy Europeans, my black hair and brown eyes are everywhere in Japan. It’s actually a miracle this didn’t happen earlier.”

“You’re different, though,” Victor rushes to say. “You have these moles under your jaw and along your ear, and I can recognise the shape of your mouth when you talk and the sound of your voice when you say my name. When I’m not sure if it’s you, all I need to do is call your name and I’ll know because of the way you smile at me and open out your arms. I’ll know your voice anywhere.”

“Then just remember my voice only,” Yuuri tells him. He’s giving Victor a slightly watery smile now. “Nothing else matters. Just follow the sound of my voice and I promise that you’ll always find me. I promise that I’ll always answer when you call. I won’t leave you. I’m right here.”

“I know,” Victor says. He smiles when he remembers how Yuuri had said the same thing back when Victor tried his hand at reassuring Yuuri after making him cry. Sometimes, what he knows and what he believes couldn’t be further apart, but right now he thinks they’re coming together in the middle. “I know. But it’s nice, sometimes, to be able to wake up and watch you sleep without worrying if it’s you I’m holding. I don’t need to wake you up to check the moles on your jaw or the ones on your ear, even if they’re covered by hair.”

“Is that why you’re always brushing my hair in the morning?”

Victor nuzzles his nose into Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri shrieks a bit about how cold he is, but otherwise doesn’t push him away.

“That,” Victor whispers, lips brushing across Yuuri’s skin, “and I just like touching you.”

Yuuri laughs, and this time it’s lighter, softer. “Don’t let me stop you,” he says, stroking a hand through Victor’s hair.

“I don’t intend to, for as long as you’ll keep saying my name. I'll hold on to you and never let go.”

**Author's Note:**

> I actually came up with the idea of _Yuuri_ being face blind first, but I got stuck while writing it so I tried to imagine what it would be like if Victor were the one with the condition. I wrote this in a rush because I couldn't wait to get it out, so if there were any mistakes just let me know.


End file.
